


Hungover (On Heartache)

by angellwings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: She ran away from him. He couldn't blame her. He broke her heart. The gulf between them was insurmountable. He was too late.





	Hungover (On Heartache)

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Okay, this one nearly beat me at the end. The last two scenes took me forever to pace out and write. But hopefully it was all worth it and you guys enjoy this. I will warn you that is pretty angsty. My concept came from Future Lyatt and that five years they lived before saving Rufus. I didn't cover the whole five years, but I did wonder how Lucy would have reacted in that timeline where she and Wyatt were never interrupted by Future Lyatt landing the Lifeboat right next to their Lifeboat. I can't imagine she would be anywhere near ready to verbally return the "I love you" out loud in that moment. So I combined that idea with some Lucy and Flynn theories that have been around since Flynn first showed her that journal and voila. This happened. Fair warning, it's pretty angsty. But there are some Wyatt supporting Lucy and Wyatt taking care of Lucy scenes in here so hopefully those ease the angst. And, as always, this is angst with a happy ending. I can never leave my babes in pain. Shout out to the **Angst Brigade** who spit balled this with me and **TheVelvetDusk** who knew I was going to write this before I did lol.
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> angellwings

* * *

_"Torn to pieces with a bullhorn fight._

_I think we'll be alright._

_Made amends, but we can't pretend the stings aren't gonna bite._

_Coming around like a steamroller wheel._

_We'll be a little stronger when we can heal but that's gonna take time._

_Hungover on heartache,_

_Shot for shot, now we're feeling it today,_

_Either way, things have to change,_

_And we're tattooed with the words that won't wash away._

_Didn't think I would feel this way,_

_But I get sick when you mention her name._

_Wish I didn't have to face you today,_

_Hungover on heartache."_

_-Hungover on Heartache, Cam_

* * *

" _I love you, Lucy."_

Did he? How could he? Just hours ago he had been fighting tooth and nail for a wife she had watched him yearn for over the better part of a year. He broke laws for Jessica. Defied time and space for Jessica. He threw away everything he had for Jessica. If she left, he left. Hadn't he said that? Jessica was supposedly pregnant with his child. But yet he loved _her_?

Could she trust it? Could she trust _him_? What if Jessica had a change of heart? What if she came to her senses and came back to the team full of genuine remorse? Would he still love _Lucy Preston_ then?

" _You don't have to say it back._ "

That's good because she couldn't. It wasn't a question of whether or not she did. She knew she did. Everyone in the damn bunker knew she did. But to voice it out loud after he'd so easily tossed her aside was a risk she couldn't take. Her heart was hanging on by a quickly unraveling thread. If she surrendered, gave the last of it to him, who's to say he wouldn't be just as careless with it as he was before?

The memories of Wyatt from _before_ flooded her senses. The stalwart support with his arms wrapped tightly around her and the words "you haven't lost me" muttered into the stale air of the bunker. The _constant_ that held her securely in the trunk of a speeding car and kept her grounded in the midst of her grief over a mother who abandoned her. The reverent hands that mapped out the surfaces of her body in the golden light of a fire. The blue eyes that had hungrily drank her in and calmed her heart as it thudded against her ribcage in the middle of an artillery tent in France. _The man_ she had trusted with her entire being the way she had never trusted anyone before and probably never would again.

Images flashed behind her closed eyelids as water gathered beneath them. She listened as he told her about how Rufus had wanted him to admit it. Was that supposed to make it better? Because it didn't. Somehow it made it worse. He wasn't telling her because he really wanted to, was he? He was telling her because he thought he owed it to Rufus. All it did was remind her of what they had lost and of the newly broken man that sat next to her. The one that was completely different from the Wyatt from _before_.

Before Jessica came back and sent him careening into the darkness Lucy and Rufus had helped him claw his way out of last year. Before the images of him and Jessica being happy and _married_ had been burned into her brain. Before he started wearing the wedding ring again. Before Lucy gave him up completely.

He told her she didn't have to say it back, but if she wasn't going to say it back then what was she supposed to say? They were sitting in silence. Heavy and heartbreaking silence. Wyatt was on the verge of tears and he refused to look at her. Her tears were already falling. Did she continue sitting here with him on the dirty bunker floor? Would this silence ever end between them?

The moment drug on and on. The silence began to feel oppressive. It highlighted the change in them. The loss of trust, the loss of hope, the loss of _Rufus_.

"I-I'm sorry," she mumbled through the thick gathering of emotions in her throat. Everything was closing in. This hallway was suffocating. She felt pressure on her chest, crushing her. She frantically pushed up from the floor and stood. She had to get out. She had to get away from the distance between them. _It was too much and too long to bridge_. "I can't...I have to...I'm _sorry_."

She ran. She ran down the hall toward her room only to remember that Jiya was there. Jiya who loved Rufus with everything she had and was actively falling apart. She couldn't go there. _She couldn't_. She passed Flynn on her way through the silo and felt his gaze following her, tracking every move she made. In that moment, she remembered asking him why he was still with them. What was keeping him here? His eyes implied _she_ was keeping him here. He was on her side. He was there for her.

And the best part? He was removed from Jessica and Wyatt and Rufus. He was separate from _all of it_. All the pain and the grief and the loss. He had his own but he was not a part of hers. She turned and retraced her steps back to him. She stopped and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She cleared her throat and took a deep steadying breath.

"I think I left the last of my stash in your room last time," she told him softly. "And if ever there was a time for a drink, _it's now_."

She dared to meet his eyes and sucked in a breath as she did. His gaze was dark and intense as he swept his arm in the direction of his room.

"After you."

God, she was going to regret this, but in this moment she honestly didn't give a damn. She was in love with a man who was caught in another woman's web and she didn't see any way out of it. She was trapped and there was no escape.

Her eyes swept over Flynn. They had a connection. It felt dangerous and mysterious. She had to admit it intrigued her. Not only that, but she was in no danger of losing her whole heart to him. She fully expected him to leave one day. She knew this would end before it began. Flynn may have been dangerous but spending time with him was not. He would never own her broken pieces the way Wyatt Logan would.

She wanted an escape, right? Flynn was it. He was her escape from everything about her life that was broken. A temporary fix, a strange place of solace.

"Oh, what the hell," she said with a forceful exhale and a slow step forward. What else was she going to do while trapped in this festering hole of desolation?

* * *

She ran away from him. He couldn't blame her. He broke her heart. The gulf between them was insurmountable. _He was too late_.

From that moment on there was a shift among the group. At first it was subtle - _small_. There was a deeper emotional connection between Lucy and Flynn. He could see it. He knew her better than anyone, even when he pretended he didn't. There was silent communication exchanged in a few glances. She had leaned on Flynn once before and it would make sense if she did it again.

Lucy had lost everything and, despite his promise, that included him. Flynn had been there for her when he hadn't. When he betrayed her trust she turned to _Flynn_. He knew telling her his feelings wouldn't fix things. He wasn't naïve. He knew her faith in him was shaken. But watching her create patterns he knew intimately with _Garcia Flynn_ fucking hurt.

Jessica broke him down, but _this_ -

He felt like he was being shredded from the inside out.

The months that followed saw them moving to a new bunker, maintaining their defensive position against Rittenhouse, trying to cope with life without Rufus, and ultimately led to Wyatt facing more than a few hard truths. Mostly about Jessica.

It was true that Jessica was pregnant, but it wasn't his. She was too far along for it to be his, even this timeline's version of him had been estranged from her for longer than she'd been pregnant. He was defeated and relieved all at once. A part of him wanted a chance to be a good father. To prove he wasn't _his_ father. But another part of him, the majority of him, was relieved. Jessica had nothing to hold over his head. He didn't love her. Once upon a time he had loved _his_ Jessica but this wasn't _his_ Jessica. His Jessica was dead and without the fog of a potential innocent life hanging in the balance that became _immediately_ clear.

The night the rest of the team found out was the first time she had talked to him, outside of a mission, since that day in their old bunker. She found him sitting at the large round kitchen table, nursing a beer. She sat down next to him and out of his peripheral vision he watched her struggle. Her hand flexed, fingers spread and then curled, before tightening into a white knuckle fist. She wanted to reach for him but, for whatever reason, she couldn't.

"You okay?" She asked, quietly as if she were afraid of the answer.

He took a breath and a swig from the brown bottle in his hand and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Turns out you were right. I mean, of course you were right. You're always right."

Her brow furrowed, pinching her face in an expression of acute pain. He hated it. He hated that he saw _that look_ more than any other these days.

"I-I didn't want to be. I never wanted to be right about that," she replied.

"I know," he told her with a sad sigh.

She never wanted to see him hurt just like he never wanted to see _that look_ on her face. It couldn't be said that they didn't care. They did. Somehow, that had always been the problem. His chest ached at that realization. Loving her was the _problem?_ Oh god, that thought left him nauseas. Why was their timing reliably catastrophic? Why couldn't they ever be on the same page?

"I'm sorry, Wyatt," Lucy said in a hushed tone. Her voice was hoarse, she gulped loudly. He watched her fight her instinct to reach for him again.

The gulf between them kept growing and he didn't know how to fix it. "Me too."

"It kills me that-I mean you spent so long wanting-It shouldn't have happened like _this_."

Her jaw was locked and her words, once she decided what she wanted to say, were sneered through her teeth. She was angry on his behalf. Even when she couldn't love him, she still cared. Would she ever stop amazing him?

"A lot of things shouldn't have happened like _this_ ," Wyatt repeated. He risked meeting her eyes and found them already searching his face. He hoped his meaning was understood. _Especially us_.

The door to the kitchen swung open and Wyatt didn't need to look to know who it was. Lucy's expression told him all he needed to know. Her eyes ran up and down the length of the newcomer before looking down at her folded hands as they rested on the table. Her half lidded eyes screamed guilt to him. She always had that look when he and Flynn were in the same room. It was as if she felt like being close to Flynn was a betrayal to _him_.

It hurt, sure, but didn't he deserve it?

She was a goddamn saint while he was parading around the old bunker with Jessica, making insensitive jokes and being a fucking asshole. Turnabout was fair play and this situation had certainly turned on him. Now he was stuck watching her move on. It was painful but, as insane as it was, it left him feeling closer to Lucy than he had before. She felt this pain. She let her heart be cut to pieces for the sake of his happiness. He was experiencing everything she did while Jessica lived with them. He was understanding her more now than he ever had before. If she ever felt as low and hopeless as he did right now than she deserved happiness.

While he wasn't convinced Flynn would make her happy, he knew she would have to figure that out for herself. He'd been an asshole about Flynn once before. He wasn't going to do that again. His heartbreak and jealousy could corrode his entire being but _she_ would never know it.

She gave him the freedom to figure his shit out. Now it was her turn.

He may not like it, but goddamn it he could deal with it.

The day he first noticed the physical intimacy was the hardest. They had been in the middle of briefing a mission and Flynn had reached for her. It was a simple gesture. Not inappropriate by any means, but she had leaned into it. It was instinctual and only for a moment but everyone noticed it. Jiya's eyes flew to his with concern, Mason grimaced, and Christopher's brow furrowed in confusion.

They thought they were being discreet.

 _They weren't_.

He'd muttered an excuse about needing to get his gun, knowing full well it was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and locked himself in his room. His own private room that the new bunker allowed them to have. He struck quick and fierce. He shoved a small book shelf out of the way, not caring what noise it made as it scraped against the floor, and punched the wall. The drywall and plaster gave under the force of his fist with a satisfying crack, but that wasn't enough. It didn't _hurt_ enough. He needed to feel it. He needed to feel the pain, the anger, the injustice. _All of it_.

He punched until his skin broke and his knuckles bled. It didn't take long. His fists had more force than he intended, but that matched his emotional state. He'd lost one woman he loved to a murderer and now history was repeating itself. He stretched his hand to aggravate the fresh wounds. It stung and he could see his knuckles swelling already. It helped, but he knew he couldn't make a habit of it. He needed these walls to last a while.

He pushed the book case back into place to cover the hole and shoved his bleeding hand in his jean pocket. They had a job to do, a war to fight. He would shove all of this into a box and close the lid until the mission was over.

But one thing was clear, he was going to have to find a better way to cope. He refused to turn to whiskey and he refused to lose control of his temper. He would not become his old man. The worst parts of his nature would not overcome him. Lucy deserved him at his best, whether they were together or not.

He had lost her trust and Flynn had gained it. He did this to himself. The question was...

Did he want to fix it?

Hell, _could_ he fix it? How would he do that?

The obvious answer was start small. She knew how he felt about her. He laid it out there for her to see. But he knew better than anyone, loving and trusting were two different things. He needed to earn her trust back. He needed to remember how to be her _friend_.

When they came back from the mission he put together a plan. Every morning he would blow off steam in the gym he had improvised in one of the spare bedrooms. Push ups, pull ups, boxing...anything and everything until he was too exhausted to be angry. Surprisingly, it worked. He was able to be civil to Flynn, despite wanting to throttle him every time his hand landed on Lucy's waist or the small of her back. And Lucy...

Slowly but surely she was smiling more. Talking to him more. Confiding in him. Consulting him.

He decided to just be there for whatever she needed. He didn't know what changed or why the gulf between them seemed to be closing. Maybe after her involvement with Flynn she felt like the pressure was off. She was pursuing someone else. Her heart was protected from him. Was that it? Was it safer to talk to him now that she was spending more time with Flynn?

It had been so long since they _talked_. Just truly _talked_. He loved this woman with everything he had and selfishly he wanted all of her, but he couldn't have that. If he couldn't have that then he would be happy with their talks. He would take whatever piece of her she was willing to give him.

She told him about her fears of Amy being gone forever, she told him about what happened when she chased Emma in Chinatown, and confessed to feeling woefully inadequate in the field. That last one gave him an idea. Her fight with Emma had caused a fear in Lucy that hadn't been there before. She wanted to know how to defend herself and after their talk Wyatt came to one conclusion...

He would teach her.

He invited her to train with him in the morning. She hesitated at first, probably at the idea of being alone with him, but she agreed. He kept the sessions with her as professional as he could. Despite themselves, there was the occasional lingering moment. He tried to minimize those, though, because every time one happened she would skip the next session. He was too used to mornings with her now to let a "moment" get in his way.

Their relationship improved by being friends. He hated to admit that. He hated to admit it because loving Lucy was an essential part of him and the idea that being separated from her was somehow better for them--

God, it hurt like hell.

He found her one night, sitting up in the kitchen. She had a mug of tea, a glass of whiskey, and tearful bloodshot eyes. At first, he worried something had happened with Flynn but the hollow look in her eyes told him it was something else. Something darker. Something he had seen in the mirror more times than he could count.

He didn't say anything. He just sat down beside of her and slid the glass of whiskey away.

"Is this helping?" He asked her.

Her bottom lip quivered and tears escaped her eyes before she shook her head at him. "No."

"Lucy, what's wrong?" He asked. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Too many memories," she told him. "Too many thoughts. I just...I want to be numb. I don't want to feel any of this. Grief, remorse, love, heartache - it's too much and I'm too tired. I want to dull every nerve I have, Wyatt. I don't want _any_ of this."

"Being numb is not any better," he told her. "Trust me. I've tried that. I've tried shutting myself off from the world, Lucy, and it doesn't work. After Jessica died I tried that first--" he paused abruptly when she reached across him for the whiskey he'd taken away from her.

She sprung into action as soon as his ex-wife's name left his lips. The meaning was obvious. _If you're going to talk about her then I'm going to need this_. And maybe no one else would have gotten that. Maybe he understood it because he knew _her_. He saw meaning in every gesture. It was a curse and a blessing.

It meant conversations like this were easier but it made being in the room with her and Flynn unbearably painful. Wyatt knew exactly when they started sleeping together, even though Lucy tried to hide it. He knew because he could see the difference in her expressions and her body language. He knew because once upon a time that had been _him_. Although, she was different with Flynn. Not as demonstrative. Not as giddy. Nowhere near as blindingly bright as she had been after Hollywood.

He watched her gulp down a couple of sips before she waved a hand for him to continue.

"I tried numbing myself first and then I decided to let my anger consume me. Anger at myself, anger at the bastard who got away, anger at other people who were genuinely happy, anger at _the world_. Neither did me any good," he told her honestly. Her eyes were on his face, but they weren't meeting his. His voice was hoarse with emotion as he spoke. "The only thing that helped was letting people in. People like Rufus and...and _you_. Letting myself care and feel for people again was exactly what I needed. Meeting you saved my life, Lucy. And I know you think purging your attachment to people will solve everything but, take it from someone who wasted too much time doing exactly that, _it won't_. It won't fix you or heal what's been broken."

"Maybe not," she agreed with a sniffle. "But at the very least it'll keep me from shattering completely. There's less risk of anyone hurting me ever again."

She was debating giving up. Compassionate, stubborn, _brilliant_ Lucy was talking about giving up. She was planning to develop a shield of apathy - a mask of steel. God, was she really that deeply wounded? Had she fallen to those depths? He knew what that looked like up close and personal and the idea that she might--

He closed his eyes tightly to fight off the searing pain. Lucy's pain was his pain. He fought that idea for a long time but now he was embracing it. An ache formed in his chest and his hand blindly rubbed across it, as if he could soothe it.

Last time he'd been in her position _she_ pulled him back. She gripped his face, forced his eyes to meet hers, and made it clear he was needed. That he mattered. His heart had been hers from that moment on. He knew that _now_. He saw it clearly in hindsight. He should have seen it back then.

He reached out and took the glass from her hands, set it on the table, and then gripped her hands in his. Desperately. As tightly as she had gripped his face at The Alamo.

"If you do that then you're throwing it all away," he told her.

"All of _what_? I have nothing left to throw away," she said with a sardonic chuckle.

He shook his head adamantly. "That's not true. You have to know that's not true."

"Rufus is dead, Amy and my mother are... _gone_ , as long as I'm stuck in this bunker my career is dead too." She stopped, met his eyes, opened her mouth to say something else but then quickly looked away. He instinctively knew what she didn't day. She lost him too in a way. She lost her trust in him. She lost the safety of the connection that they once shared.

She tried again and continued her speech, skipping over him completely. The lack of discernible emotion in her eyes terrified him. "It's just me and a war I never wanted. I look in the mirror at this person I've become, who's training to fight and who's emotions constantly ebb and flow between unbearable sorrow and murderous rage, and I don't recognize her. She's this creature with shadows over her eyes and sunken features. Some ghostly shell possessed by sloth and wrath, and there is no in between. I have no break from it. I either want to crumple and cry or go on a rampage until Emma Whitmore lies dead at my feet. That's it, Wyatt. Those are my two gears. I don't know how to—" Her voice trailed off and her bloodshot eyes closed just as two silent tears to slipped down her cheeks. "I keep thinking I want to go home, but I can't." Her chin trembled as one of her quaking hands released his and brought the tumbler of whiskey to her lips. "I can't go home because I don't have one."

Water pooled in his eyes, causing his blue gaze to redden and match her brown one. He watched her take a slow sip of whiskey before closing his eyes. He forced himself to memorize this image. He wanted to remember what Lucy looked like at these bleak depths. He needed to remember the pain this caused him. It would be his motivation for never letting it happen again. Flynn or no Flynn, he wasn't going to let her believe she was alone in the world. She didn't deserve that.

"You do, Lucy. You do have a home."

His tone was soft and hesitant because he was about to tell her a truth he wasn't sure she was ready to hear. But what choice did he have? He couldn't leave her like this.

"You have a home with me, whether we're both retired soldiers occupying the same barracks or...we somehow find our way back to friends. The circumstances won't matter. You'll have me, and I know I've told you that before. I failed you, the team, _myself_. But I won't do that again. _I'm here_. I'm in this war with you now and I'll still be _here_ when it's all over."

He was still holding one of her hands, while the other nursed her whiskey. He adjusted his hand so that his fingers were laced through hers and squeezed.

"If you ever want it, a home or a safe place or just someone to listen, _I'm here_. I will always be here in whatever capacity you need," he told her. The moment was too heavy and he felt the need for levity so he added, "I'm the Swiss Army Knife of bunkmates, ma'am. Just tell me what you need and when you need it."

A waterlogged chuckled filled the air around them and he felt the tension in his chest fade, little by little. It was a beautiful sound. He needed to hear it more often.

"Just so you know, I'm only laughing because what you just said is _so bad_ that it's funny," she told him with half of a grin.

"I'll take any laughter I can get, even if it's out of pity."

Her chuckle blossomed into a rolling cackle for a few glorious minutes. He had no choice but to smile and laugh along with her.

The whiskey was forgotten and placed back on the table. Best of all, her hand never once released his. Was this progress? Were they actually moving forward?

"Thank you," she told him with a specter of a smile that faded as quickly as it appeared.

He nodded and squeezed her hand again. Three times. For the three little words she wasn't ready to hear again. "Anytime."

The moment lingered between them as Wyatt felt the pull that often accompanied vulnerable moments with Lucy. They both began to lean in, instinctually, but she abruptly stopped and straightened up, pulling her hand from his. She wiped furiously at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. He watched, unsure what to do, as she stood and grabbed her glass and her mug and then turned to dump them in the sink.

"It's late," she said in a voice that was deceptively smooth, as if she were forcing her emotions away. "I should go back to bed. You should too."

He nodded but didn't reply as she placed the dishes in the sink. She walked by his chair to leave, and he could have sworn he felt her hand skim across his back. But that had to be his imagination.

"Goodnight, Wyatt," she said quietly as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

The room was suddenly cold. It was vacant like the way he felt whenever the distance between them resurfaced. Whatever progress they just made was minimal. That was clear now, but some progress was better than none at all.

The next morning he caught her sneaking out of Flynn's room for the second time, but unlike last time she wasn't leaving after a night of talking and drinking. She was wearing her jeans from the night before, but the shirt was definitely not hers. It was huge and black with long sleeves that extended past the tips of her fingers. She was carrying her boots in one hand and the top he'd seen her wearing in the kitchen last night in the other. Immediately, he began remembering the last time this had happened. His reaction and subsequent jealousy. He had been concerned for Lucy, yes. Flynn was dangerous. He had been jealous, yes. He had still been suffering whiplash from their one night together that he couldn't stop reliving in his dreams night after night, despite Jessica sleeping next to him. The idea of Flynn, the man who had abducted her and held her at gunpoint, having a night with her that was in any way similar to his made him blind with fury.

If Lucy could get passed it then he supposed he should too but she had a tendency to ignore her own well being for the sake of others. If she felt Flynn needed the forgiveness for some sort of personal fulfillment then she would give it to him. But this - this stereotypical walk of shame from Flynn's room to hers - he couldn't find the logic or feeling behind it. Not that he needed to. It was Lucy's life and she made those calls for herself. He wasn't going to make the same mistake he made last time. But still...

Even when he didn't agree with Lucy he could typically understand her. He didn't understand _this_.

He stayed where he was and let her believe she was sneaking down the hall unnoticed. Honestly, he wouldn't have wanted to talk to her while she was sneaking out of another man's room anyway. What would he say? _How did you sleep?_ He grimaced and shook his head. No. He didn't want to think about how little she actually _slept_.

The next time he saw her she had showered and changed clothes. He could tell she showered because the freshly washed scent of her body wash followed her around the bunker.

He expected unbearable non-verbal closeness between her and Flynn when he resurfaced, but that didn't happen. In fact, he seemed to be putting intentional distance between them. It threw Lucy off and left her confused. Not hurt. Wyatt knew what that looked like. Just bewildered. The alarm sounded indicating the Mothership had jumped and off they went. The team split up, Wyatt and Jiya from Lucy and Flynn. Flynn didn't seem too eager to split up but he did as Lucy instructed.

When they came back together as a group there was palpable tension and awkwardness. He and Jiya had exchanged several dubious glances. When the job was done and the Lifeboat landed in the bunker, Flynn and Lucy darted out the machine and down the hall before Wyatt or Jiya could undo their seatbelts.

"What do you think happened with them?" Jiya asked him with a furrowed brow.

"I don't know and I don't care."

Jiya rolled her eyes at him. "Half of that reply was a lie."

He sighed and let his head fall back against the Lifeboat seat. "I know."

"She doesn't love him, you know," Jiya told him. "She loves you. She just doesn't want to so she's running away."

He kept his eyes closed as he let Jiya's words sink in. Hearing Jiya say Lucy loves him should have felt good but all he heard were the words that came after. _She loves you. She just doesn't want to._ Oh, perfect.

"Gee, I can't tell you how gratifying it is to hear that the woman I love wants to run away from me," he replied dryly.

"Can you blame her? The last time she ran toward you, you left her behind."

It wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't _true_.

Eventually, he trudged out of the Lifeboat and retreated to the shower. He let the hot spray of the water wash away his stress and his pain. It wouldn't last, but for at least the next hour he would feel refreshed. He went to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. It was getting late and he didn't see Flynn or Lucy anywhere. He could hear Mason and Jiya talking in the next room where the Lifeboat was stored. They had been talking in secret a lot lately. He had a feeling they were planning something they weren't ready to share.

But he couldn't hear Flynn or Lucy. He stayed quiet, tuning his senses for any sound of the voice he memorized a long time ago. Finally he found it. Very faint. It was sealed off down the hall and there was probably a door and at least three thin walls between him and her. But he could hear her. Her voice was raised and the words were muffled. He could hear a deeper voice respond in a lower tone. No yelling, but the cadence sounded stilted.

They were not having a pleasant discussion. What happened last night? She left the kitchen, went to Flynn's room, and then something happened that set off an argument. But what was it?

He wasn't sure he really wanted to involve himself in it so maybe it was best he never got an answer. He ate quickly and then hid in his bedroom. If whatever fight they were having spilled over into the common areas he wouldn't see it. He didn't want to see it. Half an hour later he heard a door slam and then light hurried steps in the hall. _Lucy_. There was rummaging and shuffling that he could faintly make out once he cracked his door open and then another slam of the door as those light hurried steps left the kitchen. The steps passed his door and he looked out into the hall again just as Lucy's figure could be seen stepping into the bathroom. He watched the door close and heard the lock click.

She was hiding, like him. But what was she hiding from?

His room was across from the bathroom and the noise always drifted through his door. The sounds of water running, Mason's off key shower singing, or the toilet flushing could be softly heard all the way on the other side of his room. He could usually tune it out and go to sleep. But _usually_ he didn't hear the shocking sounds of shattering glass echoing from the bathroom. He was up, out of bed, and banging on the bathroom door as quick a reflex.

"Lucy? Are you okay? What happened?"

He heard cursing on the other side of the door and knocked again.

"Lucy, please, let me in or at least give me visual confirmation that you're okay," he asked with a worried sigh. "I'm not leaving until you do."

There was a labored sigh that he heard right up against the door and then he heard the click of the lock and saw the knob turn.

"M'fine," Lucy mumbled as the door opened a sliver. She peeked through the narrow opening and reached a hand out to wave him away. "Go 'way."

His eyes narrowed at the way her words slurred. He could see the pink tint of her cheeks and her bloodshot eyes. She blew out a huff when he didn't immediately leave and his suspicions were confirmed with one whiff of her breath.

"You're drunk."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Like that's a new occurrence?"

"You can't say 'I'm fine' without slurring but you can say 'occurrence'?" He asked. Despite the seriousness of the situation he could feel a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Only Lucy would have that issue when drunk.

She opened the door and stood in the doorway. She motioned to herself from head to toe and then put her hands on her hips. "Here's your visual confirmation. M'fine. See?"

"I heard breaking glass," he said as he glanced past her to see inside the bathroom. He could make out shards of glass in the middle of the floor and a bottle of vodka that was already a quarter of the way empty.

"I dropped my glass, but it's okay. I'll just drink from the bottle."

She turned from the door and wavered on her feet, nearly falling backward into him. He caught her around the waist and steadied her on her feet.

"I think you should probably put the bottle _away_ , Lucy."

"Nope," she told him as she popped the 'p.' "I need it tonight."

"I don't think you do."

"No offense, Wyatt, but I honestly couldn't give a damn what you think. Not right now. Not tonight."

He tried not to flinch at her words. He failed. That stung like a slap. But she was upset and drunk. He could make allowances. God knows he said much worse things to her at his lowest and most hateful.

"You keep going like this and you'll be sick in the morning," he warned.

"Good, being forced to take refuge here will keep me from facing my stupidity while sober."

"You're not stupid." He said it so fast he surprised himself.

Her brow pinched at his words and her lips formed a severe frown. Her eyes watered and he heard her sniffle. "Yes, I am. I fucked up."

"I doubt that."

"No, I did. I really did-"

"Lucy..."

"And it's all your fault."

"My...my fault?" He asked with a furrowed brow. "What does that mean?"

"Okay maybe not all your fault - not your fault at all actually. It was mostly me and the fact that I'm running scared. It's actually one hundred percent my issues. So yeah...not your fault. I-I shouldn't have said that. Forget I said that. That was unfair even while I'm drunk off my as-"

"Lucy, stop for a second," he said as he interrupted her nervous rambling. "What's my fault? What did you mean by that? How is it all my fault?"

"I just told you that it's not, Wyatt. You have enough that you think is your fault. I shouldn't shove my hang ups off on you. I knew-I knew what I was doing and I _knew_ it would end badly but I did it anyway. That's on _me_ , not you."

He was still missing something. He had an idea of what but for some reason the pieces weren't fitting together. Lucy looked increasingly irritated as the minutes ticked by. "This conversation is hard to follow when you haven't clued me in-"

"I'm sleeping with Flynn!" She yelled in frustration.

He flinched again. Another slap.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Or - or I was. I know you hate him and I know you probably will never look at me the same ever again and I don't blame you. I'm sorry to tell you like this, especially since I just sort of yelled it at you which was horrib-"

"I _know_ , Lucy. I knew the whole time," he repeated.

She froze. She stopped anxiously ringing her hands, stopped pacing, and he was even afraid she stopped breathing. She simply stared at him with tearful eyes and trembling hands. "Y-you knew? We tried to be discreet. I didn't want to flaunt anything around you. I...I know how that feels and that's the last thing that I would-"

"You didn't flaunt anything," he assured her. The reminder of his idiotic decision to bring Jessica back to the bunker hurt but he needed it. He needed to remember that he deserved every bit of anguish this conversation would cause him. "It's just that I know you too well."

"But - but you weren't any different. You...we still talked and you started training me. You never said anything. Last time you merely suspected something happened, when nothing actually did, and you were-you were-"

"A dick?" he asked her with a regretful wince.

"Well...yeah, actually."

"You were saint like about Jessica-" he stopped as she turned away from him, sidestepped the broken glass, and picked up the vodka bottle off the floor. He faltered with his sentence as she took a large stinging gulp from the bottle. "-and I hated myself after 1919 so I was determined to not be _that dick_ again."

He reached out and tugged the bottle from her hands. "Okay, let's slow it down, huh? And we should probably clean up the glass." Lucy wobbled on her feet as she nodded her agreement and Wyatt gave her a concerned glance. "Or maybe I should clean up the glass and you should stay on the other side of the room."

"M'fine."

"You're not fine," he said with a sigh. If she told him she was fine one more time... "You're wasted."

She shrugged sluggishly and then nervously fiddled with the bottom hem of her shirt. "It's easier to think about you when I'm drunk and, at the very least, if the mention of Je- _her_ makes me want to vomit then I have a decent excuse. I can pretend it's the alcohol and not you saying _her name_ that makes me sick."

He tensed and his eyes sought out her bleary ones. He felt anger and remorse at the unfairness of it all. They were both left with a multitude of scars that peppered their every interaction. The biggest scar between them was the scar of what could have been. The question of the possibilities they never had a chance to explore haunted them both. That haunting was given a name and a face by Rittenhouse, a name that Lucy couldn't hear him say without taking a shot of hard liquor.

She pressed her hands to her lips with wide watery eyes and shook her head. "I-I shouldn't have said-You know, maybe you're right. Maybe I should stop. Stop drinking. Stop talking. Just _stop_."

She leaned back against the bathroom wall and slid down to the floor with her knees bent. She placed her arms on her knees and then rested her head on her legs, effectively hiding her face from him.

"Is that true?" He asked her. "Does hearing her name really bother you that much?"

There was a moment of silence before she finally lifted her head. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before she answered him. "A drunk mind speaks a sober heart, Jean-Jacques Rousseau."

"Is that a yes?" Wyatt asked with a furrowed brow.

She let out a soft whimper as she nodded. "I know it's not fair to you because your...Jessica, the _real_ Jessica, was probably as wonderful as you say she was, but the only... _her_ I've ever known used your guilt against you, manipulated me into asking her to stay, kidnapped my friend, and _broke you_. I hate her as much as I hate Emma. I hate that she tied you up in so many knots that you lashed out at _everyone_." Tears fell from her eyes and her chin trembled as she continued. "Her name doesn't deserve to leave your lips, Wyatt. She doesn't deserve _you_. Watching you try so hard to hold onto her once we found out she was Rittenhouse...if my heart hadn't already been broken that would have done it." She purposefully avoided his eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, keeping her gaze focused on the ceiling. "And yet somehow after that you...you told me you love me? How can you fight so hard for her and then think you love _me_? It doesn't make sense. I want to trust what you say, but I can't. The facts all stack up against you and I...I like facts. I like logic."

_If my heart hadn't already been broken..._

_How can you fight so hard for her and think you love me?_

_The facts stack up against you_.

None of what she just admitted seemed good for him. Yes, okay, she thought he was too good for Jessica, but it sounded like...the way he fought for Jessica led to Lucy not believing that he could actually love her. _It doesn't make sense_ , she said. He unscrewed the bottle of vodka and took a gulping sip for himself. If they were doing this then he probably needed to catch up.

"You're right," he said. His voice was hoarse from the sting of the vodka as it traveled down his throat. "It doesn't make sense. Neither does you continuing to defend me and give a damn about me after the way I just... _left you_. You should _hate me_ but you don't. Why is that?"

"I...I don't know," she said softly.

"Yes, you do," Wyatt told her. "We both feel it even when there's no _logic_ to be found."

"But it's all so messy," she replied in a voice thick with tears. "It shouldn't be this messy. Maybe...maybe we were never meant to try. Our timing has always been-"

"Fucking awful?"

She gave him a rueful smile and nodded, wiping her cheeks as she did.

"Maybe our timing has been awful because you and I still had too much shit to learn. I know I did. I went through a lot before I ever met you, Lucy. Maybe it's never worked out before because I needed time for all of that crap to heal," he said, sitting down next to her on the floor.

"I-I guess I could see that. I had some lessons to learn too, one of which _just_ ended," she said with a furrowed brow. She looked thoughtful. Not hurt. Not heartbroken. _Pensive_.

There was no question as to what lesson she was referring to. He took another sip from her bottle and cleared his throat. He was going to need that sip to ask his next question.

"What happened with Flynn?"

She gave him a suspicious glance and shook her head. "You don't really want to know."

His eyes stayed steady on hers, he made sure to let his curiosity show on his face. The truth was, he _did_ want to know. He wanted to know any and all details she wanted to tell him.

"Or do you?" Lucy asked with narrowed eyes.

"If you want to tell me then I want to know. Especially since it's apparently all my fault."

She winced. "I told you that was wrong. It's not true."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right. What was that you said earlier? A drunk mind speaks a sober heart? You have to think that on some level or else why would your drunk mind say it?"

"Can I have my vodka back?" She asked as he took yet another sip. "I thought you told me to slow down?"

"I did," he said with a nod. "But that's _you_. I'm catching up."

"Why?"

"Because we're talking about Flynn."

"We don't have to talk about Flynn."

"Yes, we do," he said with a resigned sigh. " _We do_. You need to say it and I need to hear it. I need to understand _why_."

"Why is easy," she told him as she lifted one shoulder. "There's no big mystery there."

"Yeah? Then I wish you would clue me in on it," he told her with a quirked brow.

She gave him a hesitant glance before looking down at her knees and avoiding his face. "He was...uncomplicated."

His eye brows rose in disbelief. "He was _what_? Did you just say uncomplicated when describing a murderer and terrorist who's also still mourning his wife and his daughter?"

She bit her bottom lip and continued to refuse to look at him. "That's why he was uncomplicated. There was no chance of me getting attached to him. Eventually I knew he'd choose them over me. There was no risk of...of--"

"Of him breaking your heart?" Wyatt asked knowingly.

"Of me even _wanting_ to give it to him at all," she clarified. "Whatever's left of it, anyway. That was actually one of the issues Flynn and I had."

"That you didn't want to give him your heart?" His brow furrowed at her. It sounded like she was upfront with Flynn about that so why would it matter?

"No, the issue was that - no matter how hard I tried to get it back, majority of my heart already belonged to someone else. He didn't like that very much."

Hopeless amber eyes met his hopeful blue ones. Surely, that was a sign in his favor. He still had part of her heart. She couldn't let him go just like he couldn't let her go.

"He said I was never really present when we were together, and then he found out that you and I were still talking sometimes and he - he said that he only had half of me, half of the time. We both knew why."

"And that reason was?" Wyatt asked.

"You, Wyatt. That reason was _you_ ," she told him with a sad smile. "No amount of running away seems to be far enough. I keep running and somehow you keep catching up." She pointed to the now half empty bottle of vodka with a dry grin. "Like now, for instance."

He wasn't feeling the alcohol before but he was now. He was the reason? He had hoped that was case but to have confirmation from her was nearly unbelievable. He couldn't tell if it was the vodka going to his head or _Lucy_. "Why do you feel like you need to run away?"

"Because if we try again and you leave me I'm not sure I'll have anything left to offer anyone else. The little bit of my heart that's still mine will be gone forever and I'll be some sort of... _ghost_. In the world but never a part of it. And I can't-It's hard enough keeping up the fight as it is. I don't need any more setbacks. I can't lose anyone else," she admitted as she snatched the bottle back from him. " _I can't_." She tilted the bottle back and took long swallow. "God, I'm glad I'm drunk. I'd never have been able to say any of that otherwise."

"Yeah, we gotta work on that," Wyatt told her with a sincere concerned gaze. "I want to know what _you_ want, Lucy. All the time. I want you to tell me. Fight me if you have to, just be honest with me like you weren't on that phone call before Salem. I...I've always wondered, did you want me to fight for you at all during that phone call? Did _you_ want to fight for _me_?"

"Of course I did, but...I didn't want to know. If you were going to choose her over me I didn't want to know. And then I thought you'd never forgive me if you chose me and never got to find out what would have happened...with her. You lived with guilt over her for so long. I-I wanted you to be happy and I thought if you had the love of your life back-"

"Ah, okay, there's the problem then," he said as he interrupted her. He genuinely understood now. He knew what the disconnect was. He pried the bottle from her hands and took a swig.

"What's the problem?" Lucy asked in confusion.

He took a deep breath and focused his gaze on hers. There was enough vodka in him now to just let the words fly free.

"I love you, Lucy, I've told you that before and I get now why you had trouble believing it. It's because you don't realize-or maybe I didn't make it clear enough-that _you_ are the love of my life. I never really chose Jessica-" He cut himself off again as Lucy grabbed the bottle back and took a drink. He expected that at this point. He hoped she wasn't so drunk she forgot this in the morning because he wanted her to know this. He _needed_ her to know this. "I was never really given the choice between you and her. I should have seen through our phone conversation and known what you wanted me to do but I didn't. I wasn't sure if maybe what we had meant more to me than it did to you and then when you kept telling me to be with Jessica-" The bottle hit her lips again. "I don't know, I wasn't sure that I _could_ choose you if you didn't want me to and I didn't know if you wanted me to."

She let out a shaky exhale and then tentatively reached over threaded their fingers together. The tears were back in her eyes. He watched her blink them back to keep them from falling.

"That night in 1941 and everything else between us meant _everything_ to me. I hate that I made you doubt that, but...it was self preservation and the fact that your happiness meant more to me than my own. You loved her first so I thought...I thought she would make you hap--"

" _You_ make me happy."

She gasped at his words and squeezed his hand. "Still? Even after...after Flynn?"

"I don't give a shit about Flynn. I just don't," Wyatt assured her adamantly. "Yes, watching you with him hurt but, _Jesus_ , what you were forced to witness between me and J—" he stopped short when she reached for the bottle and he grabbed it before Lucy could. "Jessica was so much worse. That's what I kept thinking the whole time I was in close quarters with you and Flynn. I wasn't kidding earlier when I called you _saint like_. If you can deal with that then I can deal with _him_. You're still _you_ and we've both been through the ringer. When that happens, you do whatever you have to do to cope. I know that better than anyone. There is not a single thing or person in this world that could make me love you less. When I say you're the love of my life, I _mean it_. You're it, Lucy. My future is you, whether that's as a friend or something infinitely more than that. It's all just... _you."_

She said nothing for several seconds. She stared at him with wide eyes and labored breaths. It took him back to the last time he told her he loved her. When she ran away from him. To his horror she started to push up from the floor and before he could stop himself he reached for her wrist.

She blushed with a soft embarrassed smile and patted his hand that held her wrist. "I'm not running away this time. I promise."

"Sorry," Wyatt said with a sheepish crooked grin.

"I was just gonna clean up the broken glass so we can get out of the bathroom."

"I'll do that," Wyatt told her. "You're further gone than I am."

"I am not!"

He grinned at her indignant expression and crossed arms. "Okay, go ahead and try to stand up without help. I dare you."

"Fine. I will."

She felt her way up the wall, relying on it to hold her up. He watched, ready to catch her, as she pushed off the wall. She managed one step and then began to teeter backward. His hands flew to her hips and gripped them tight to hold her steady.

"See?" He asked with a smirk, ignoring the way her hips seem to be molded to fit his hands perfectly. "You're clumsy enough when you're sober, you really want to risk that while drunk?"

She mumbled under her breath but leaned back against the wall and then motioned to the shattered glass. "Fine, then have at it."

He stood much easier than she did and found a broom and dustpan. He swept up the glass, tossed it, and then held out a hand for her.

"Come on, Professor. I'll walk you to your room." But when he looked up at her again she was already half asleep. He found heavy lids and a downturned face waiting for him and smiled warmly at her. "If you think you can make it that far."

She shook her head. "Can't. Tired." She took his outstretched hand, but tripped over her own two feet. Not uncommon for Lucy Preston, even after weeks of private training with him. She collided against his chest and grabbed his arms for balance. Her eyes drifted to his lips before she could manage to untangle them and stand on her own. "Sorry, tired and drunk. Bad combination."

"I can see that," he told her with a fond chuckle. "Look my room is just across the hall. You take it. I'll find somewhere else to crash for the night."

He could tell she was drunk when she nodded instead of arguing with him. Her shoulder leaned against his as he led her across the hall. She stumbled into his bed and crawled under the covers. He moved to leave but before he could step away a delicate hand shot out from under the covers and wrapped around his. She tugged forcefully causing him to fall forward onto the bed. He caught himself on elbows and leaned up. Her eyes were already on his, waiting for them to connect.

"It's over with Flynn," she said quietly. "It ended tonight. I didn't actually get around to telling you that part."

"And are you...okay with that?" He asked carefully with a pinched brow.

"My pride was a bit wounded at first but...yes. I'm fine. I told you, there was no risk of losing anything to him. I knew it would end before it started," she said before stifling a yawn. "I can't lose something that already belongs to someone else."

The implication was that her heart belonged to him, but she still hadn't said the words. He could wait. Hell, this whole drunken conversation was illuminating but it may not mean anything once the sun came up. She could pretend it never happened. He would hate that but he would let her. Maybe she wasn't ready to talk to him without the liquid courage just yet. At the very least, tonight gave him hope that she would be ready eventually.

He took a deep steadying breath and watched as her eyes fluttered closed. Once he thought she was asleep, he tried to lift up off the bed. Lucy's hand tightened on his. He looked over at her and found a soft sleepy grin on her face with warm chocolate eyes boring into his.

"Stay. _Please,_ " she asked. "Don't go."

"Lucy..."

" _Wyatt_. Don't over think. Missed you." She missed him? Did she miss him the way he missed her? Had she dreamed of them being this close again the way he had? How could he say no?

Her hand released his to languidly trail over his stubbled cheek. Goddamn, did that ever feel good. Her touch was instant comfort to his tortured soul. A part of him was convinced he was dreaming.

"Just stay," she repeated.

So he did.

He slipped under the covers and wrapped his arms around her. Maybe he was dreaming, but if he was then he planned to enjoy it. He buried his nose in her hair and then lowered his head to press a kiss to her temple. He fell asleep with all five sense full of her.

Drunk or not, it was _perfect_.

* * *

 _Pain_. That was the first word that came to mind when she woke up. Her head was killing her and her stomach was churning. _Wyatt_. His name was second. She knew why as soon as she forced her eyes to open as wide as they could, which wasn't far at all unfortunately. She was curled into him with her face nestled in the curve of his neck and her hand resting on the line of his jaw, absently caressing his stubble even now. His arms were wrapped around her waist with one hand fisted in her shirt.

Part of her was soothed by it, but the other part of her realized something else.

They both _stunk_ like vodka.

Oh god, she drank too much. _Way too much_.

Not black out drunk. Sadly, she remembered every embarrassing moment. But just drunk enough to loosen her lips and spill all her secrets. All her secrets but those three little words if she recalled correctly. Well, thank god for that. The first time she said those words to him she wanted to be stone cold sober.

Wait - since when did she sound so certain about telling Wyatt she loved him? Last she checked she'd been purposefully burying her emotions under empty sex and vodka, trying as hard as she could to drown out one essential truth. Turns out, she couldn't drown it out. Her heart and soul screamed it no matter what she did. She loved Wyatt Logan. No matter what distractions she tried, loving him consumed her. It was overwhelming and terrifying and _dangerous_.

But she couldn't help it. She couldn't stay away from _him_.

It all led her here, hungover and snuggling with him in his bed after ending a messy ill-fated affair with a semi-reformed terrorist. God, was her life ever insane. She missed Rufus. No doubt he would offer her some sort of pop culture riddled speech that would rally every bit of spirit and courage she had left. Rufus could be dry, but he always gave the best rousing speeches. The reminder of Rufus running through her alcohol soaked brain caused tears and then gut wrenching sobs before she could stop them. She tried, she did, but she was hungover and weak and stressed.

All of it overflowed. The distance between her and Wyatt, turning to Flynn when she knew she shouldn't, missing Rufus - it was all hitting her at once. The emotions she had attempted to numb for months bubbled their way up and out. Leaving a round wet stain on Wyatt's t-shirt.

She knew she'd woken him up because his arms tightened around her and then one of his hands rubbed slow soothing circles on her back while the other held her firmly against him.

"Luce?" He asked in a voice groggy with sleep.

 _Luce_. He hadn't called her that since 1941.

"I'm-I'm fine," she replied in a whisper.

"You keep saying that," he told her as he placed a kiss against the top of her head. "But it never sounds convincing." He leaned down and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. "Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

"Why is everything so complicated?" She asked through her tears. "Why do I keep losing people? How do we do this without Rufus?"

"Together," Wyatt answered. He took a deep steadying breath as if he too was suddenly reminded of the hole Rufus left in the team before he elaborated. "We do this together, that's how. I miss him too. Every day. In fact, I half expect him to barge through the door and make some sort of awkward observation."

Lucy let out a soggy chuckle. "He would, wouldn't he?"

"He had the worst timing-"

" _Ever_ ," Lucy finished for him with a grin and a sniffle. "Thing is," she said as she turned and curled deeper into him. "It's not just him that I miss. I miss you too. I miss _us_."

"I'm right here," Wyatt reminded her as he idly ran a hand up and down her spine. "And I'm not going anywhere this time. Not without you."

He sounded so sincere, eager - _earnest_. He meant it. She heard the commitment and the regret in his tone. She knew where the regret came from. He promised to be there for her once before and he couldn't keep that promise. He knew it was a long shot she would trust him to be there for her again. What he didn't know was that she saw all of that. She saw how deeply hurt he was by everything that had happened to them. There was a sadness in his eyes now that was different than the guilt and loss she saw in him when they first met. This sadness was for the two of them. For the lost possibilities they flirted with once upon a time. For the trust and easy quality they lost. Everything between them was so hard now. Every interaction felt labored and heavy when it never used to be that way.

She used to doubt they could ever have that again, but then the last few months happened. He was there for her whenever she needed him, despite knowing she was sleeping with Flynn. He pushed passed his anger and confusion, that she knew he must have felt, _for her_. He started to teach her how to fight and was ever the gentleman the entire time. He kept his hands to himself and never tried to cross any lines she placed between them.

Without her even realizing it, he became her safe space again. She came to him with her fears and he helped her sort them out. It was _almost_ like it used to be. If that could happen while she was _trying_ to pull away from him then surely it could only improve if she _stopped running_. She could face her fears and feelings and they could sort through them together.

They could get over the hump as long as they did it _together_.

She closed her eyes tightly and inhaled slowly. She met Wyatt's eyes on an exhale, and nearly grimaced at the stale scent of vodka between them. Funny the things you notice when you're about to let go of the last few shards of your heart.

"I love you, Wyatt."

His hand stilled on her back and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you sure? This isn't some sort of hangover weakness or-"

"No, my hangover weakness is the way my stomach is currently rolling, the sour taste of last night's alcohol on my tongue, and the pounding in my head," she told him with a light groan before she settled a soft smile on him. "But _you_ and the way I feel about you...that's not a part of the hangover. It's something that's been a part of me for a long time now that I tried my hardest to forget, cut out, throw away but _nothing_ worked. I couldn't purge it. Now I know that it was because I didn't _want_ to purge it. I wanted you, but I just needed some time. There was too much happening at once and I felt...I felt-"

"Claustrophobic?" He asked with an understanding glance.

"Yes!" She yelled and then winced at the volume of her own voice. "Ow, don't let me do that again. No yelling."

He chuckled softly and nodded. "No yelling, got it."

"I lost my mom, I lost Rufus, I got the shit beat out of me by Emma, and I thought I lost you but it turns out you...you loved me. I couldn't reconcile any of it. Not right then. I needed time and I needed space. It was _never_ about whether or not I love you," she told him as she shook her head at him and then caressed his cheek. Her hand continued until it raked through his hair. His eyes closed and she could have sworn she heard a barely audible hum in the back of his throat. He looked peaceful and relieved. It had been so long since she had seen that look on his face. She promised herself to help him feel that more often. He deserved it, especially after waiting on her so patiently. Yet another reason for her to love him. "Of course I love you. You never really gave me any other choice. I was...I was in the middle of loving you before I even knew what had happened."

"You love me and I love you. We're both admitting it at the same time. Are we...actually on the same page?" Wyatt asked her with a teasing grin.

"You know, I think we might be," Lucy answered with a soft laugh.

"So that leaves one question," Wyatt said as he opened his eyes and let his deep blue pools focus on her.

"What question is that?"

"What do you want to do about it, babydoll?" He asked her with a small smirk.

His hand was once again tracing a slow and soft line up and down her back. It was distracting and grounding all at once. Why was it that he didn't seem hungover at all? Her head was screaming and her stomach was boiling from the inside out. He seemed to handle _everything_ better than she did. She blamed his recklessness.

"Well, sweetheart, first I want to take some Tylenol and then I need some sort of hangover remedy. After that I plan to brush my teeth about a hundred times to rid my mouth of the rotten vodka taste and then-"

"Alright, alright," he said with a quiet laugh as he dipped across the short distance between them and kissed her forehead. "After you take care of the hangover, I mean."

"Oh, after the hangover?" She asked playfully.

He rolled his eyes and poked her side, causing her to laugh and squirm away from him. "Yes, _after_ the hangover."

"What I _want_ ," she said as she bit her bottom lip nervously. "Is to be with you. That's all I want. It's all I've ever wanted."

He brought a hand up to trace the line of her face with the backs of his fingers. "I think we can manage that," he said in a low and warm voice. "But we do it right this time," he stated. "Actual dates. _In the present_. Maybe even dinner."

She smirked and gave him an exaggerated look of shock. "Wow. Dinner? That's a big step. Are we sure we're ready for that?"

He laughed loudly and beamed at her. God, he had a beautiful smile. She craved it when it went away. She craved _him_.

"Smart ass," he muttered with a teasing shake of his head. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"Well, I've been keeping you on your toes since the day we met, haven't I? No reason to stop now," She told him with a bright smile and a shrug. "Right?"

He nodded and then pressed his forehead to hers. "Yes, ma'am. You certainly keep it interesting."

She bumped her nose against his before ghosting a kiss over his lips. "You love me for it."

He smiled and then stole a slow kiss, open mouthed and exploratory. Tongues searching and teeth nipping gently. "Yes," he said as his mouth hovered just above hers. "I do love you. For that and so much more."

She felt her face relax and soften as she smiled serenely at him. "I love you too."

He leaned in to kiss her again just as her stomach roiled and that's when she remembered--

 _Hangover_.

She lightly pushed against Wyatt's chest and brought both of her hands to her chin. "Wait. Stop."

"What, why?" He asked.

"I need to brush my teeth! You can't kiss me anymore until I do. Until we _both_ do. We have morning breath _and_ hangover breath. It's bad. Really _bad_."

"Gee, thanks," Wyatt told her with a chuckle.

"I love you," Lucy told him. "But I don't love your breath right now. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't tell you. So, take it as a positive sign."

Oh he was. He was definitely taking it as a positive sign. "Bossy know it all," he muttered with a grin. "Always trying to tell me what to do."

A wave of love and affection swelled within her. It filled her to the brim and she honestly thought she might explode. It felt good to be happy again. It felt good to be like _this_ with _him_. She never wanted it to end. She wanted to fight this fight with him side by side for as long as it took. She just wanted _him_ every day for the rest of her life. It was that conclusion that had her nodding her agreement and leaning toward his ear to whisper a promise intended only for him.

" _Always_."


End file.
